The Porsche pulled into an available spot across the street from the De Haro house. It was well after dark and there was a chill in the air as the two weary passengers slowly emerged. Steve reached behind the front seat and pulled his flight bag out, dropping it to the pavement so he could open the hood. Jeannie grimaced as she pulled out one of the duffle bags that had been crammed into the small space, throwing an amused scowl in Steve's direction as she did so.
He chuckled. "You look like your father when you do that. He's always on my case about the trunk space, or lack thereof, as well."
She laughed softly, handing him the bag. "I'm not surprised. He's always been a big 'substance before style' kinda guy; that's why we had a Falcon." She dragged the other bag out of the trunk and he slammed the lid. They started towards the house.
"Which reminds me," Steve mused, "we're gonna have to borrow one of the department's cars to bring Mike home; we won't get all three of us in that." He nodded over his shoulder towards the Porsche.
"Oooo, that's true," she nodded. "Can you do that, just borrow a car if you're not on duty?"
"Well, we're not supposed to, but I don't know anybody who'd object."
He dropped behind slightly to let her start up the stairs ahead of him. When they got to the landing, they dropped all the bags as Jeannie dug the house keys out of her pants pocket. As she opened the door, she glanced over her shoulder. "We don't have much to eat in the house but I think we have some cans of soup."
Dinner had consisted of potato chips and chocolate bars from the vending machines in the hospital waiting room.
She opened the door, picked up the duffle and stepped into the house, Steve right behind her with the other bags. "That sounds perfect. I'd eat anything right about now," he chuckled as he shut the door then crossed deeper into the living room, leaving the duffle near the stairs and putting his own bag on the coffee table.
She let the duffle she was carrying slip to the floor near the stairs and turned to look at him. He stared back expressionlessly then he smiled softly and warmly. She returned the look then moved to him slowly and slipped her arms around his waist. He pulled her into his chest, one hand on the back of her head.
"I'm so glad he going to be okay," she whispered and he could feel her start to shake, knowing she was crying. He rocked her gently.
"Me too…"
They held each other for several long seconds then she pulled away, turning towards the stairs without looking at him. She picked up the two duffle bags and started to drag them up the stairs. He took a couple of quick strides towards her. "Here, let me -"
"No, I've got it!" she said sharply, continuing up the steps without looking back. When she got to the landing, he heard her call down, "I'm going to do a washing. Can you look for the soup and put it on, please?"
He hesitated for a second, surprised by her sudden change of tone, then nodded to himself. "Uh, yeah, sure… I can do that." He turned and headed for the kitchen, glancing at his flight bag on the coffee table as he did so. They had already come to the mutually agreed upon decision that he would be spending the night for sure, and possibly more depending on how mobile Mike would be when he got home.
Familiar with the layout of the Stone kitchen, he knew exactly where Mike kept his canned goods. There were about a half dozen soups and he chose the chicken noodle; for some reason it just seemed appropriate.
He could hear her milling around upstairs and he sighed heavily. He knew the next few days were going to be some of the most pivotal in her young life, as her fear for her father lessened and she finally came to grips with what she had been through. He wasn't sure if he was the person she needed at this point and he was wracking his brain trying to come up with someone who was more suited to her needs. He had a couple of ideas; now he just needed to find the opportunity to make a couple of private phone calls.
He was emptying the can of noodles and broth into the saucepan when she came into the kitchen with a overflowing laundry basket in both hands, heading for the basement. She had changed out of the clothes she had been wearing all day and smiled at him as she crossed the tile floor. "It's nice to wear clothes that don't smell of fish," she chuckled.
He grinned at her and nodded.
She sniffed the air as she got to the basement door. "Oooo, chicken noodle. Good choice." She shifted the basket slightly so she could open the door and turn on the light then disappeared down the steps.
He was setting the table when she reappeared. She stood in the doorway and surveyed the kitchen. "You seem to have everything under control," she chuckled. "Do you mind if I take a shower before we eat? I still smell like fish too."
He laughed, taking a step closer to the stove and turning the temperature on the element down. "Sure, no rush. Take your time."
"Thanks," she said softly as she moved past him and through the living room towards the stairs.
He watched her go, then stepped into the living room and freezing. He cocked his head, listening and waiting. After a couple of minutes, he heard her go into the bathroom and close the door and he bolted for the phone on the wall in the kitchen.
He dialled a very familiar number. "Bill? Yeah, it's Steve…. Yeah, we're okay. I'll explain everything tomorrow - I don't have time right now. Listen, I need a favour and I need it fast…. Yeah, I need a phone number…"
# # # # #
They ate the soup in relative silence, both of them exhausted in mind and body. The anticipation of a good night's sleep in comfortably familiar surroundings was more of an enticing and soothing prospect than they'd realized.
She tilted her bowl to try to get the last of the tasty broth onto her spoon, looking at Steve from under a lowered brow. "I still think you should sleep in Mike's bed tonight. He's not using it."
Steve smiled; it was conversation they'd had already. "Because, like I said, he'll probably be home tomorrow and there's no point having me use it tonight and then having to change the sheets for tomorrow."
She scowled at him. "We don't need to change the sheets ; it'd only be for one night and I don't think you've got a communicable disease or anything like that, do you? Believe me, Mike won't mind -"
He was shaking his head. "I don't care if he doesn't mind, I do. The couch is just fine, I've slept on it many a night already."
Shaking her head as well, she got up from the table and put her empty bowl in the sink. She walked to the basement door and paused, listening, then headed down the stairs. When she came back up, Steve had cleared the table, stacked the dishes in the sink, and was wiping the counter. "I'm going to bed," she said. "The laundry's in the dryer and I'll just leave it there overnight." She paused and stared at him so long he began to shift uncomfortably. "Thank you…" she said softly, as if she was unsure about the strength of her voice. And he knew she wasn't just thanking him for preparing dinner.
He smiled at her warmly. "You're welcome."
As she walked past him towards the living room, she touched his arm gently. He watched as she disappeared up the stairs. He sighed sadly. What was supposed to have been a relaxing week for a man who needed time to deal with a devastating personal tragedy, and a daughter who knew instinctively what needed to be done to help him, had turned into an ordeal he wouldn't have wished on his worst enemy.
And in so many ways he felt helpless.
He turned off the kitchen light and wandered back into the living room. A sheet, a heavy blanket and two pillows were already stacked on one end of the couch. As he started to unfold the sheet, he turned the TV on. He had no intention of watching but he needed the background noise of a mindless program to let his mind wander.
It had been a stressful few days, mentally and emotionally. And though things seemed to be winding down, with Mike recovering in the hospital, at least for one night, and Jeannie safe up her room, he knew there was still a lot of healing left to do.
He finished making the bed on the couch and reached into his flight bag for his toiletry bag then started for the stairs. He smiled as he closed the bathroom door; Jeannie had set out a small hand towel and facecloth for him.
Finished, his teeth and face now freshly scrubbed, he opened the bathroom door and turned off the light. He had only taken a couple of steps before he heard it: a soft, muffled sob. He knew immediately what it was.
Putting the toiletry bag on the bathroom counter, he turned quickly and padded softly to Jeannie's closed door, pausing to listen again. After a long beat of silence, he heard another sob. Biting his lip in consternation, he raised his right fist to knock then stopped himself, suddenly unsure if he should intrude on her privacy. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply and silently, torn as to what to do.
Then, without hesitation, he grabbed the knob and opened the door. She was sitting on her bed, in her pajamas, her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around her legs. Her head was down, her entire body heaving with the sobs that shook him to his core.
In one long stride he stepped to the bed and slid onto it beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her quickly into his arms. Unresisting, she leaned into him, her whole body continuing to shake as she released some the heartache that had accumulated over the past week.
He had no idea how long they sat there, silently, as he continued to rock her until the sobs began to recede and her taut muscles began to relax. Eventually he realized she was almost overcome with exhaustion and he lowered her head to the pillows, then slid off the bed and pulled the blankets up to cover her. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be deeply asleep.
He watched her for several long moments until he was certain she was going to be all right then quietly crossed the room, looking back at her as he turned off the light and closed the door. He picked up his toiletry bag from the bathroom counter and returned to the first floor. Tossing the bag on the coffee table, he sat heavily on the couch, fighting his own emotional exhaustion. He felt like his heart was being torn apart in a thousand different ways.
Eventually he got up, crossed to the TV and turned it off. He changed into his pajama bottoms and t-shirt, turned off the lamp and crawled into the cocoon of sheets and blankets on the couch.
As tired as he was, it took him more than an hour to finally fall asleep.